BRODIE. Dear dad, it is not good to have an ill-tempered son.

LAWSON. What the deevil ails ye at the match? 'Od, man, he has
a nice bit divot o' Fife corn-land, I can tell ye, and some
Bordeaux wine in his cellar! But I needna speak o' the Bordeaux;
ye'll ken the smack o't as weel's I do mysel'; onyway it's grand
wine. TANTUM ET TALE. I tell ye the PRO'S, find you the CON.'S,
if ye're able.]

BRODIE. [I am sorry, Procurator, but I must be short with you.]
You are talking in the air, as lawyers will. I prefer to drop
the subject [and it will displease me if you return to it in my
hearing].

LESLIE. At four o'clock to-morrow? At my house? (TO MARY).

MARY. As soon as church is done. (EXIT MARY.)

LAWSON. Ye needna be sae high and mighty, onyway.

BRODIE. I ask your pardon, Procurator. But we Brodies - you
know our failings! [A bad temper and a humour of privacy.]

LAWSON. Weel, I maun be about my business. But I could tak' a
doch-an-dorach, William; SUPERFLUA NON NOCENT, as we say; an
extra dram hurts naebody, Mr. Leslie.

BRODIE (WITH BOTTLE AND GLASSES). Here's your old friend,
Procurator. Help yourself, Leslie. Oh no, thank you, not any
for me. You strong people have the advantage of me there. With